


A Threat No Less Insidious

by bees_stories



Series: The New Team Torchwood Adventures [7]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Alien Invasion, Case Fic, medical drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-04
Updated: 2012-11-04
Packaged: 2017-11-17 23:22:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/554329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bees_stories/pseuds/bees_stories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cardiff is under seige as a new alien menace floods the city. Jack's new team is put to the test. And Dr Felicity Porter reaches out to an old friend when one of their own becomes a casualty. <br/>Beta by McParrot. Many thanks!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

***

Stuart stared down at the patient intake form and sighed. This was not the way he had envisioned his evening ending. He tried to settle a little more comfortably in the hard plastic chair and looked for boxes he could successfully tick, or questions he could answer accurately, and came up disconcertingly blank. Some investigator he was. 

He knew the man's name was Terry Smithfield. He knew that he could lead as well as follow on the dance floor, which made for interesting speculation about other activities that required give and take. He also knew he was somewhere between thirty-five and forty, had light brown eyes, and dark hair that would probably be curly if it were styled longer. As it was, it was disarmingly dishevelled from a night of dancing at the Bicycle Club, which is where they had met. 

The evening was meant to be a celebration, although what exactly they were celebrating was rather flimsy. It had been a good day, and Jack said that was reason enough when Mark had suggested the club as a place to wind down. 

It had been fun. An opportunity to get to know his colleagues better when they weren't under the pressure of solving some problem created by the Rift in time and space that randomly appeared in Cardiff with the sole purpose, at least in Stuart's view, of stirring up trouble. 

The music had been good, the drink reasonable, the atmosphere lively, and the décor quirky. Rainbow- coloured neon bikes of all styles – from motorbikes to archaic 1890's models – decorated the walls; an unsubtle declaration that anyone was welcome, no matter what their preferences, to enjoy what the club offered. 

Dev and Mark had dragged him out on the dance floor. Gwen and her husband Rhys had made an appearance, as did Captain Harkness, Ianto, and a few of the recruits who were even greener than he was.

The Captain turned out to be a remarkably good dancer, getting down to the beat like a pro without regard for his professional reputation. He had begged off after taking a turn with what seemed like half the dancers in the club – both female and male – and he and Ianto had departed soon after, claiming an early morning. From the looks they were shooting one another, Stuart had no doubt whilst they might find their bed soon enough, sleep wouldn't beckon them for some time. 

Their group had dwindled rapidly after that. Stuart was getting ready to make his own exit when he'd been tapped on the shoulder and invited onto the centre square. His prospective partner was tall, dark, handsome, and smiled with just the right amount of hopeful insecurity. Stuart smiled back. The tempo of the music slowed just as they found the beat, and a new flutter of nerves made him hesitate for a moment before he gathered the stranger into his arms and began to sway to the new song. 

There had been a time when he'd frequented clubs on a regular basis. But after a couple of bad breakups, and too much time dealing with the darker side of human nature through his work, he'd become cautious. Like the rest of his colleagues on the murder squad, he'd given up on romance and relationships. Now that he was starting over with a new job in a new city, he was willing to try again.

The song ended, and the disc jockey cued a bouncing hip hop number. Stuart slipped his hand into that of his dance partner and led him off the floor towards the bar. "My name's Stuart," he said as they queued for drinks. 

"Terry." He pulled out his wallet. "Let me get these." 

They drank their beers quickly. Terry seemed driven to dance even as they sat at the end of the bar, tapping his foot and drumming the bass line against the bar top. He pulled Stuart back onto the floor before their beers were half gone.  
Maybe that should have been Stuart's first clue that something wasn't quite right. But the good-time mood was infectious, and he hadn't put Terry's mania down to anything more than a love of dance.

After several numbers, Terry seemed a bit loopy. His moves became progressively more flamboyant and silly. Stuart wondered if his smile wasn't half as daft as he reached out and took Terry's hand in his, trying to get him to rein it in a little. His grin slipped as he noticed how warm Terry's skin was. They'd been on the dance floor for ages; maybe it was time for a change of venue to some place less manic. At the very least, it was time for another drink. 

"I should find my friends," Stuart called over the driving music. 

Terry nodded. He slipped his arm around Stuart's waist and then missed a step. He stumbled, pulling Stuart nearly off his feet and into another couple, sending them off balance and into a third set of dancers. They mimed apologies at one another before Stuart led Terry away from the dance floor and into the bar.

"Why don't you have a seat and I'll get us something?" 

Terry nodded and half collapsed into a chair. Stuart looked at him with concern before heading over to get their drinks. 

From the vantage of the bar, Stuart looked around the club. There was no sign of Mark or Dev or any of the others. He glanced at his watch as the barman drew closer. It was late. He didn't really need another beer, although he was thirsty, and Terry definitely needed something to help him rehydrate. "Two orange juices, and a couple of waters, please." 

The barman nodded, poured the drinks and set them onto a tray, and took his money. Stuart thanked him by leaving his change on the bar and carried his order over to their table.

Terry grabbed one of the glasses of water and pressed it to his face. "So hot." 

Stuart frowned. In the close atmosphere of the nightclub, he was perspiring freely. But even in the dim light of the bar, he could see that Terry's skin was dry. "Get that down you." He guided the glass towards Terry's lips, urging him to drink. 

Terry nodded. He took down half the glass in a go and then looked up at Stuart with an odd, defocused expression. "I don't feel so – " He slumped, sprawling over the table and sending the other three glasses spilling juice and water into the tray. 

A barely legal girl at the next table shrieked. Stuart stared disbelievingly for a moment before he reacted. He grasped Terry's wrist and found his pulse hammering alarmingly. He felt a sense of numb disbelief crawl over him as he reached for his mobile to call 999.

***

"Stuart! What are you doing here?" 

He looked up from the barely touched admission form and froze, stuck between embarrassment about the situation and relief at seeing the friendly face of a colleague after all of the pointed questions he'd endured whilst Terry was admitted. Relief won out and Stuart rose to greet Torchwood's medic. "Felicity." He glanced towards the exam area, off limits to anyone who wasn't medical staff, a patient, or one of their relatives. "Long story. You?" 

"Brought in a pair of mauling victims." She looked down at her smock, noticed a smear of blood at the hemline, and frowned. "Nasty, but they'll live." 

"Our lads?" 

Felicity shook her head. "Civilians in the wrong place at the wrong time. You think they'd learn that dark alleyways late at night are not good short cuts. It could have just as easily been a yob with a knife, but they met up with a weevil instead. Fortunately, Andy and I were already in the area." 

Stuart glanced around and spotted Andy coming out of the nurses' lounge at the same time Felicity did. His head was dipped down to catch the words of a petite woman in a nurse's uniform, and it appeared neither one of them had their minds on work. 

"Is that – ?" 

"Penny of the Light Brown Hair that Glows When the Morning Sun Hits It?" Felicity replied dryly. "That's her. Funny, I don't think her hair is particularly effulgent, but then again, I'm not completely besotted, and Andy is." 

"Mr Fraser?" Whatever retort Stuart intended to make died on his lips as the Casualty doctor who'd bustled Terry away approached. He seemed to recognise Felicity and nodded a curt greeting at her as he closed. "Is Dr Porter a colleague?"

Stuart nodded. "Do you have some news, Dr Meti?" 

The doctor inclined his head, suggesting they should move away from the centre of the waiting area. He guided them into a small office and shut the door. "It was touch and go for a while, but I've got Mr Smithfield stabilised for now. It's a very curious case. I was inclined to agree with the paramedics when he was first brought in. All the signs pointed to Ecstasy-induced heatstroke. But his tox screen came back negative for amphetamines or other drugs. And then we found this."

He pulled a digital photo print out of the patient file and handed it across the desk. "It appears to be an infected insect bite. Spider or something similar from the size of the welt and pattern of inflammation around it. I don't suppose you've seen it before?" he said to Felicity.

She studied the photograph for a long moment and then shook her head. "I've treated my share of scorpion stings and snake bites, but I don't think I've ever seen anything quite like this." Turning to Stuart she asked. "What do you know about him? Has he travelled out of the country recently?" 

Stuart shrugged helplessly. "I've just met him tonight. There wasn't much of a chance to exchange a lot of background." 

"The thing of it is, Dr Porter, there was another case, very similar, just a few days ago." Dr Meti's expression as he regarded them was grave. "That patient died earlier this evening."

***

Stuart watched the trolley bearing Terry being rolled away to the isolation ward of Intensive Care. Felicity was still in consultation with Dr Meti. She planned to collect the other affected patient's records, plus blood and tissue samples. It might not be a Torchwood case, but Felicity Porter wasn't the sort to turn away when a colleague asked for her help. 

Andy approached bearing a paper cup. He handed it to Stuart. "You looked like you might need this." 

His head felt muzzy after his evening clubbing and the long wait in the hospital lounge. He knew he should just pack it in but Terry's collapse wasn't sitting right with him. "I need to do something." 

Andy held up a set of house keys. "I figured you might. I got these off Penny. They're Terry Smithfield's. Come on. I've got his address, too."

***

Terry lived in a flat above an estate agent. It was well post-midnight, and the neighbourhood was quiet. Stuart turned the key in the lock. "I don't even know what we're looking for," he said, giving voice to his despair. 

"Me neither, mate." Andy switched on the lights and headed down the hallway into the flat proper. 

Stuart followed, trying hard to get his head into the game. "I guess we treat it like any other crime. I didn't really know anything about Terry." He looked around the flat, trying to get his bearings. "Let's see what we can learn. Felicity said to look for signs he'd been travelling recently. A passport. Suitcase. Ticket stubs." 

"Why don't you start in his bedroom," Andy suggested. "I'll take a look around the study." 

"Yeah, okay." Stuart moved away. The flat had a fairly straightforward layout: a lounge that doubled as office, a kitchen/dining area, and all the way at the back of the flat, the bedroom and en suite bathroom. 

Framed views of Cardiff lined the walls. Some were vintage prints offering glimpses of the city in days gone by. Others were contemporary, showing the same cityscape aged by a hundred years. Stuart examined one of the prints and saw the neat initials T.S. in the right hand corner. Terry was a skilled photographer. 

The bedroom was cluttered with personal belongings, but otherwise neat. There were more framed photos on the walls; the arty sort of people posed in half light and shadows. A fancy 35mm camera and several lenses sat on the desk, and a laptop computer and printer took up the bulk of the rest of the space. The computer was on, in hibernation mode, and locked with a standard password screen. Stuart typed in F_STOP on a whim, and was rewarded with Terry's desktop.

None of the program icons raised any alarm bells, but he opened a few at random to be thorough. There was some financial management software that showed biweekly deposits of varying amounts from a local newspaper and a modest portfolio of investments. Terry lived comfortably, but he wasn't well off. Another set of folders were filled with photographs, some personal and some obviously done for work. There wasn't any indication that he travelled out of Wales or even the greater Cardiff area for his work. And the most recent holiday photos were dated two years prior and shot at Snowden.

He logged off and moved to the bedside table. His hand hesitated on the drawer pull. Under different circumstances – Stuart pushed the thought away and opened the drawer. Terry entertained. There was a half used box of condoms, a partially empty bottle of lube, a health certificate showing he was recently tested and found free of STIs, and a couple of skin magazines of the type Stuart favoured when he got over lonely. There were no drugs, either recreational or prescribed, and that made him feel a little better. At least he had confirmed Terry wasn't a regular user. 

"You find anything in there?" Andy called from the other side of the flat. 

With a guilty start, Stuart replaced the personal items he'd found and checked the rest of the drawer's contents. "Address book," he called back. "The parents are in Bristol." 

Andy stood in the doorway as he went through Terry's clothes and wardrobe. There was a suitcase, but it hadn't been off the shelf for a great while, if the fine layer of dust was any indication. "There's nothing here." 

On the kitchen counter, a box contained non-perishable groceries. Andy sorted through the contents, picked up a leaflet and started to glance at it, and then dropped it again with an exclamation. He stared at his finger and then stuck it into his mouth. 

"Are you all right?" Stuart asked. The fridge held beer, a new bottle of milk, and fresh packets of meats, cheese, and pre-washed salad greens. He shut the door. There wasn't really anything of interest there either.

Andy pulled his finger out of his mouth and wiped it against his trouser leg. He grimaced and said, "Paper cut." He stared at the box and leaflet accusingly for a moment and then added, "Come on. We're wasting our time." 

Stuart looked around the room, but he was tired, slightly hungover, and feeling out of sorts. Nothing caught his attention, and he had to conclude that Andy had a point. They shut off the lights, locked the door, and went back to the Hub.

***

Felicity knocked three times – two long and one short – on the door to Dr Sean O'Neal's office. It was their private code, thought up after one too many drinks on a long night when they'd stayed up playing gin rummy. It was sort of childish, but Felicity believed in getting her fun where she could take it, a trait she shared with the pathologist. O'Neal answered with his standard greeting. "Enter and be amazed." 

He was at his desk, hunched over his keyboard typing a two fingered staccato. He finished whatever it was he was working on and then looked up with a weary smile. "You know if we're going to meet this early, I'd rather it was at that little coffee bar with the blueberry scones." 

She eyed his waistline, not really minding the slight thickening that was taking hold around his middle. "The coffee bar is a reward for jogging the Barrage. I haven't even been to bed yet. So pour me a cup of that awful stuff you brew, and tell me about your findings." 

O'Neal complied. He pulled a bottle of cream out of the little fridge that hid among his bookshelves and put a dollop in the bottom of Felicity's cup along with several lumps of sugar. When he was satisfied the mixture seemed exactly right, he poured over a dark, rich, coffee that whilst not prizewinning, wasn't nearly as dire as Felicity implied. "Here. Get that down you." 

"Thanks." She glanced at her watch and frowned, grimaced as she swallowed coffee that was still slightly too hot to be gulped, and looked at O'Neal expectantly. "Come on. Talk to me. I've got a briefing in twenty minutes." 

O'Neal shrugged. "Death due to organ failure. You pick. Heart. Liver. Kidneys. All compromised. Even her blood showed signs of advanced haemolytic anaemia." He handed over the preliminary autopsy report and lab findings. "I've never seen anything quite like this." 

"You may again yet," Felicity replied grimly. "More cases came in to Receiving just as I was heading out." She rose, finished her coffee, and set the cup on the desk. "Always a pleasure, sir." 

"Ma'am," he replied with a slight bow, concluding their ritual.

***

Felicity was the last to enter, taking a seat at the conference table between Dev and Max Devereaux, one of the new kids hired for his quick way with a word processor, and the ability to creatively massage situations into scenarios more fit for public consumption. Jack almost smiled. Though they were still working off the generalist model, rotating the staff through the all major spots on the rota so that no one would be unprepared when things hit the fan, his operatives were subconsciously grouping themselves around the table by preferred job area: administrative, technical, and field investigations. 

The table was getting crowded. They were getting to the point he was going to have to restrict morning meetings to department heads, which meant he was going to have to hold up his end of things and start making some executive decisions and impose additional structure on their operation. They weren't just a rag tag bunch of would-be do-gooders any more. Torchwood was starting to look like an actual force to be reckoned with. 

"Sorry, sir," Felicity said as she scrawled a note and passed it up the table to Ianto. He looked at it, frowned, and passed it over to Jack. 

They ran through the basics – updates on pending investigations, debated the merits of a couple of unusual items from the press clippings to see if they should be added to the case load, and finally speculated briefly on why there was an uptick in weevil activity after what had been a relatively calm period – with a good show of efficiency. Then they turned their attention to the reason for Felicity's tardiness.

Gwen fussed with the stack of field notes and reports in front of her and then stood as Ianto lowered the lights. "This is a strange one." The photos of two people appeared on the display. "Alison Kendall and Terry Smithfield. Alison Kendall is dead. Smithfield is currently at Cardiff General in critical condition. Felicity, what have you learned?"

Their Chief Medical Officer rose. She looked weary, the result of her long night. Jack was conscious of Ianto scrawling a note, and had a suspicion that the subject of recruiting was going to be raised again as soon as the briefing ended. With this many people on staff, they couldn't get by with one doctor much longer. 

"The victims present with symptoms of heat stroke: disorientation, hot, dry skin, elevated temperature, and so on. Circumstances were with us last night when the second victim was brought in. I was able to isolate a very small sample of venom from the site of an injection mark." 

"Injection like from a needle?" Gwen asked.

Felicity shook her head. "No. I shouldn't think so. To me, and to the staff at the hospital, it looked like an insect sting or bite." 

"Was there enough venom to identify the type of bite?" Stuart sounded tense, and he looked worse. Jack decided to have a talk with him after the briefing concluded. 

"No. I'm sorry," Felicity replied with a shake of her head. "I was able to conclude that the attacker was alien. There was non-terrestrial DNA in the victim's tissue. I'm running a database scan for previous contacts, but so far nothing has emerged." 

"How bad is this likely to get, Doctor?" 

Jack sighed. Trust Ianto not to beat around the bush. 

"That depends on how many of these creatures we're dealing with. How the victims came across them in the first place. And whether we can reverse the damage they've already endured. It's really too early to say, but my gut instinct is this could be a bad one. There are now six confirmed cases." 

"Game plan?" Jack asked. He watched as Felicity made a visible effort to push away fatigue, discreetly covering a yawn before she replied. 

"I'm going back to the hospital to find out what I can about the latest casualties." She turned her attention to Andy and Stuart. "I know you said you didn't find anything at Smithfield's house, but I'd suggest you check it over again. There's got to be something linking him to Kendall and the others. It's vital that we find the locus of these exposures." 

"Right." Jack stood. "Felicity, get those names from the hospital to Gwen. Gwen, get your people doing background on the victims. See what ties them together. It sounds like something big is brewing."

***

Gwen stood in the doorway of Alison Kendall's flat trying to decide what it was they were looking for. According to the background research they'd done, Alison was a bookkeeper for a grocery distribution centre. She was also a fitness enthusiast, and had collapsed at her gym whilst using the treadmill.

A stack of mail was underfoot. Gwen picked it up and thumbed through what looked like several days worth of bills and credit card statements. She carried it with her into the kitchen and set it down next to a stack of takeaway menus. From the look of them, Alison was a vegetarian. She was also something of a greenie, if the posters on the walls were any indication. Her taste ran to classical music with the occasional New Age harp and flute arrangement for variety. Gwen sighed. She didn't see anything that was shouting, "This is why I was attacked by an alien." 

Still, it was the little things that often cracked these sorts of cases. They'd developed a list – Well, Felicity had – of things to look for that might help them determine common denominators. Gwen withdrew a copy from her tote bag and settled at Alison's desk. The top few lines were already filled in: Name, Age. Home Address. Work Address. She rifled the drawers, looking for clues, found one drawer stuffed with flyers for concerts the woman had attended, but little else of interest. 

It seemed Alison had a habit of eating at her desk as she worked or used her computer. The trash bin was full of empty takeaway cartons that were starting to go off. Gwen didn't know when someone was going to clear out the flat, so she picked up the waste basket and carried it outside where there were several colour coded bins.

Food trash was garbage in her estimation, so she tipped the rubbish into the covered bin, noting absently that Alison got her groceries from work, and that was the same service that Rhys had been banging on about for the last week. One of the grocery company's cardboard cartons was filled with newspapers and circulars.

Job done, and no results to be had, Gwen locked up and went to go speak to the manager of Alison's gym.

***

"Mark. I'm sending more data through." Felicity pulled off yet another set of disposable gloves and dropped them into the bin. Around her doctors and nurses were working steadily. The interesting medical mystery of last night had bloomed into a fully fledged crisis as more and more victims were brought in by Emergency Services and anxious family members.

The deaths were mounting. Victims were being found too late to treat, their organs failing under the stress of their metabolisms going haywire. Two beds away, another patient coded. The crash team started to roll, but the doctor in charge shook her head. "DNR order." A nurse spread a drape over the victim's face. "Call a porter and get the body straight down to Pathology." 

"Where are those cooling wraps?" Dr Meti demanded. There was an uncharacteristic level of stress in the Senior Consultant's voice that made several of his staff whip their heads around and stare before they returned their attention to their own patients. 

Doctors, nurses and technicians, no matter what their speciality, had been pressed into service – covering for colleagues who had rarely used, but possible applicable knowledge, or just lending an extra pair of hands as the patient load climbed. 

Felicity herself was meant to be in the lab. But even alien technology took time to work, and she needed to see actual case progressions, not just notes from harried colleagues, to determine the best protocols for dealing with the growing pandemic. She needed help. And she knew of exactly one doctor who had the experience that might help them resolve the crisis. "Ianto," she said into her headset. "Can you trace Martha Jones?"

***

Andy pulled at the collar of his shirt, loosening the knot of his tie and undoing a couple of buttons for good measure. Someone must have been messing with the environmental controls without his permission, because it was hotter than blazes and the air felt like it was about to close right in and smother him. He got from behind his desk and grabbed onto the edge as everything around him tilted. He swallowed, but his throat was so dry, he nearly choked. His heart pounded in his chest. Maybe he shouldn't have had that third cup of coffee.

Eyes closed he counted ten and straightened, only to stumble again. Something wasn't right. He pressed the commlink on the open channel and muttered, "Someone help."

***

"Thanks for seeing me, Mr Barton." Stuart shook hands with a slightly pudgy man of about sixty. His face held the perpetually sour look some people got from dealing with one crisis after another.

"You said this was about Terry." Barton for all his curmudgeonly appearances, seemed genuinely worried about the photographer. "Do you have any news? The hospital won't tell me anything. Freedom of the Press, indeed." 

Stuart shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir, I don't." He debated for a moment revealing that he had been on the scene when Terry had collapsed, but newspapermen and police had one rule in common: they weren't supposed to make themselves part of the story, so he pressed on. "Can you tell me what had he been working on for the last week or so?"

"Why do you want to know?" Barton asked. There was a keen glint in his eye as he caught a whiff of a potential story. 

"Terry has been poisoned." Stuart explained. "The doctors aren't sure exactly by what." He hoped he was being truthful enough to gain the editor's confidence, but vague enough not to fuel an investigation that might muddy their own. "We're trying to assist them by tracing his movements." 

"Poisoned?" Barton shook his balding head, not quite taking the news on board. "How could Terry be poisoned? You mean someone slipped him strychnine or something?" 

"Nothing so straightforward." Stuart hesitated and then asked, "He hasn't been shooting photos at any zoos or laboratories lately by any chance." 

Barton's entire face drew into a protracted frown. "No. Nothing like that. Let me look at his photo log. Give me a second." He rifled through his desk. "I know I should keep this sort of thing on the computer. It'd make my bookkeeper happier if I did, but sometimes you want to keep a tight lid on things until they're ready to pop."

He found a small, black leather bound book, and thumbed through the pages. As he did so, Stuart poised a pen over his own notebook, a carry over from his detective days.

"Here we go. Busy week. Two shoots at the Assembly. One at the stadium. There was a murder at Bute Park. Nasty business that was. Two car wrecks. Oh, and the ribbon cutting at Click and Shop." 

"Click and Shop? What's that?" Stuart scrawled down the name in his book and then looked up at Barton.

"You don't read the paper?" the editor asked.

Stuart shrugged. "I try. But I've just moved from Glasgow and I'm still getting settled. There's not much time for simple pleasures." 

That seemed to mollify the other man slightly. As it happened, Stuart did read the paper, but he stuck to mostly to the crime pages and the current events. He generally left the business section untouched.

"Click and Shop is a new internet-based grocery. Place your order online, and they drop it by your flat for two quid. After a successful local test, they've just rolled out city-wide service. We covered their grand opening."

At Stuart's blank look he scowled and said, "Give me a second."

Barton typed at his keyboard, waited, and a few seconds later, pages began to drop into the printer tray. He reached over and handed them to Stuart.

"It's supposed to be the wave of the future. The funny thing is, I remember my mam getting her shopping delivered when I was just a pup. Funny how what was old is new again." 

Stuart skimmed the article. It sparked a tenuous connection with something he'd seen at Terry's flat. "Do you suppose I could talk to the reporter who went with Terry to the opening?" 

Barton shook his head. "He was headed for the hospital. We just got a tip off there's an epidemic in the making."

***

"Andy?" Marsha Morris might enjoy her work as a secretary, but her off hours were devoted to back country rambling, and consequently, she had taken her share of first aid courses. She could recognise a person in distress. Andy Davidson was definitely in trouble.

He was crumpled on the floor. His face was bright pink, and his skin bone dry. When she checked for a pulse, Marsha found it racing under her fingers. "Medical emergency," she said crisply into her comm. "We have an officer down." 

Help requested, she did what she could to make Andy comfortable. He'd already loosened his tie and shirt collar, but she opened it further. She went to the water cooler, filled a pair of paper cups, and used a handful of tissues to wet his exposed skin. 

It seemed like an age passed, but finally the door to the secure area opened and Dev ran in, holding a field medical kit. "God! Andy!" She dropped to his side and began to looked him over. A few steps behind her, Mark and the captain appeared bearing a stretcher. 

"It's just like the others," Dev said. She yanked a thermometer out of the kit and stuck it in his ear. "He's burning up. We've got to get him downstairs and cooled off." The thermometer beeped. She withdrew it and checked the reading. "Right now."

***

"I have to go." Felicity shoved the chart she'd been examining into the nursing sister's hands and bolted for the corridor. She was half way down and nearing the lift when she gave herself a mental shake. Andy was her best mate, but she wasn't going to be able to do him a bit of good if she was out of her head with panic. She needed to detach her feelings and calm down. 

She drew a deep breath, entered the lift, and used the comparative peace to close her eyes and centre. Andy had collapsed into the arms of people who were competent. Captain Harkness was an experienced field medic. Dev was Felicity's own protégée, and had a good head on her shoulders. They would get him stabilised. It was up to her to figure out the rest of the problem. 

Felicity almost believed what she told herself as she accelerated around slower moving vehicles and used Torchwood technology to beat traffic lights on her way back to the Hub.

***

"How is he?" Felicity looked down into her partner's face. No, she mentally corrected herself. Not her partner. He was Torchwood Investigator Andy Davidson. He was a good man, and a valuable member of the team, but personally, he meant nothing to her. He was a list of statistics: blood pressure and heart rate readings, and blood chemistry results. Not the bloke who she shared coffee with at the end of a shift, or lounged on the ready room sofa watching terrible films when they were waiting to be called out. He wasn't her confident. He was not her best mate. 

Dev gave her a recap of what his stats had been on discovery, and what they had done to stabilise him. They had covered him with a cooling blanket and inserted an I.V. to push fluids as rapidly as Andy's body would take them on. The quick actions had helped. His temperature had dropped half a degree already. "I've taken blood and begun analysis," Dev concluded. "At least the basics. There's extra there for – " 

"Right. Have you found anything that looks like a bite mark?" Felicity asked, even as she carefully picked up Andy's hand and examined it for signs of a wound.

"Didn't have time, ma'am. Sorry," Dev replied.

"Don't be." Andy's left hand and forearm were clean. Felicity moved to the other side of the bed and continued her examination. "You've done good work here and quite possibly saved his life." There was a tiny welt, just on the edge of his right index finger. "Get me a magnifier." 

Dev handed over the glass. Felicity held it over the tiny lesion. "Just there. See it?" she asked, moving slightly so that Dev could see over her shoulder. "Just a slightly raised red spot." 

Without being asked, Dev went to the desk and withdrew a syringe with a fine needle attached. 

"Thanks." Felicity stuck the needle into the wound and drew back on the syringe. To the naked eye there wasn't much to see, just a drop or so of pale straw-yellow serous fluid. It wasn't much to analyse, but it was all they had.

To be concluded...


	2. Chapter 2

***

Martha gazed around the neat reception area, not quite believing her eyes. The light, airy space, tasteful décor, and potted philodendrons were a far cry from the down at the heels tourist office of days past. "This is Torchwood?" 

"Yes, ma'am. How can I help?" the receptionist replied. 

Better just to roll with it. Whatever it was. "I'm here to see Jack Harkness. If he's not available, I'll speak with Ianto Jones. My name is Martha Jones." The receptionist's eyes widened slightly, and she hastened to add, "No relation." She handed over her UNIT identification, and the receptionist scanned it through a reader before handing it back.

"Certainly, ma'am. Just a moment." 

Martha used the time whilst the girl spoke softly into her headset to gaze around the room once more. In their letters Jack and Ianto had both said change had come to Torchwood. When Ianto had written of the renovation to the tourist office she hadn’t imagined anything as extensive or expansive as this. But she supposed it made sense. According to Ianto, there had been structural damage to the building. (One too many explosions.) And now that tourists were returning to the area, the location had grown too busy for it to be an effective cover. Pulling down the old building and starting fresh seemed like the logical solution.

The small brass plaque outside the front door declaimed the address but offered no clue to the identity of the business beyond. The receptionist that guarded the inner office was young, pretty, and professional looking to the casual onlooker. But to Martha's trained eye, there was something a bit more. Certainly, the woman's physique could have come from hours spent in a gym in a search for the perfect body, but there was a certain wariness about her expression that suggested she was used to dealing with the tougher side of life. Martha knew the look. It was common among police officers and soldiers. When she looked in the mirror, Martha saw it in her own reflection. 

"Mr Jones will be with you shortly," the receptionist said before returning her attention to her keyboard and the document she had been typing when Martha had entered the office.

A few moments later the inner door swung open and Ianto appeared. He cut a striking figure in a dark charcoal suit, ruby-coloured shirt, and a grey and red striped tie that matched both perfectly. But what really caught Martha's attention was the ebony walking stick and Ianto's halting gait as he crossed into the lobby to greet her.

"Martha. Thank you for coming." 

He met her questioning gaze and smiled just a little. His demeanour was perfectly correct: professional and just a little over-formal, but his eyes betrayed his pleasure at seeing her.

"Come through. I'm afraid the grand tour will have to wait. They're expecting you downstairs." 

She nodded and followed into the room beyond. Her eyes widened as she took in the changes. Along one wall of the corridor were a series of three doors marked 'Interview'. The placard on the fourth read 'Supplies' and the fifth door 'Conference'. Opposed the enclosed spaces were five pairs of desks, each partially enclosed with a privacy shield. Six of the desks seemed to be in use, although most of their occupants appeared to be elsewhere. A man Martha didn't recognise was doing data entry at the station near the supply cupboard. 

"Is this Torchwood?" she said again as they reached the back of the room and an unmarked door. Ianto swiped a card through the reader. The door opened and they stepped through into a tunnel. That much, at least, was still the same. 

"After … " Ianto cleared his throat and started again. "After what happen, Jack realised we needed to move with the times or risk being left behind. We're rebuilding. Upgrading. Bringing our numbers up so that we can make a genuine difference."

"I've heard rumblings," Martha admitted. "through the UNIT grapevine. Command level is very interested in what Jack has up his sleeve." She held up her hands in a defensive pose. "Not that I'll tell them anything you don't want me to." 

"I know," Ianto said. "Jack trusts you to keep his confidences. As do I."

***

"Martha," Felicity said as soon as Jack and Ianto had left the medical bay. "Thank God you're here." 

"Tough case?"

The small recess Owen had used as a combination clinic and autopsy theatre had undergone a less visually dramatic transformation than the tourist office, but it was no less profound. It seemed more efficient and less cluttered, even though one end of the lab bench was covered with paper printouts and the rest was filled with an assortment of equipment, some of which was clearly alien in origin. 

"You could say that." Felicity scrubbed her hand over her face. It seemed it had been some time since she'd slept, judging by the pouches under her eyelids. "Since this morning, two cases has become dozens, and that feels like just the tip of the iceberg." 

A dark-haired young woman in a green scrub shirt came in from a doorway around the corner. Martha remembered it as being used for storage.

"Pathology results from Dr O'Neal and the latest stats on Andy." She handed over a sheaf of papers to Felicity, regarded Martha with a curious expression, and retreated again.

Martha watched as Felicity skimmed the documents. "Same as before. System failure due to hyperthermia. We can stabilise the patients if we catch them early enough, but otherwise, there's just no chance." 

"Tell me what you know so far," Martha said. "And tell me how I can help." 

"Come with me." Felicity gestured towards the doorway where the technician had disappeared. "You can see for yourself."

Above ground, ambulance sirens screamed as crews rushed to get stricken patients to hospital before it was too late.

***

"I've got something!" Mark called. Across the body of the Hub people stopped what they were doing and looked at him eagerly. Jack came striding down from the catwalk, and Felicity and the UNIT doctor, Martha Jones, both sprinted to bracket his chair. "I think I've found the locus." 

"Where?" the two doctors chorused. 

"Click and Shop. There's a high certainty that the victims had contact with the grocery delivery service as either employees, guests at the opening, or customers." 

"All of them?" Jack sounded guarded. But that was understandable. They'd been working flat out, all day, since the morning meeting. No one wanted to get their team-mate's hopes up unnecessarily. 

"Yes, sir." Mark was tired, but he felt a swell of pride as he gazed, as the others did, at the spider's web of contact information that led back to the grocery warehouse. Every query sheet the investigative team had filled out had been fed into the system. Click and Shop had accumulated hit after hit as a common data point. He was sure, of the victims that lacked a perfect link, if they dug a little harder, one would appear. 

"Good work." Jack clapped Mark on the shoulder. "So, if it's food delivery we're looking at, and people aren't complaining about weird looking rats as a free gift with purchase, I'm guessing that we're looking for some kind of bug. Am I right?" 

"That's been our working hypothesis." Felicity sounded more upbeat than she had in hours. "There have been analogous compounds to digestive enzymes in the wounds as well as the venom. But – " 

"See the problem we're having, Jack," Martha said, picking up the conversational thread. "Is if you reached into a box of shopping and something bit you, wouldn't you take a swat at it back? None of the search teams mentioned finding any dead insects of any sort in any of the victim's flats."

"Flying insect?" he suggested. 

"God, I hope not," Felicity replied. "If these things fly we'll never get a handle on them unless we do a widespread pesticide bombing, and even then we may not eradicate the infestation completely." 

Jack raised a hand. "We're getting ahead of ourselves. Get whatever you need: nets, jars, stun guns. Let's go take a look at that warehouse." 

"Jack," Ianto said, before the group dispersed. "If the warehouse is the locus, that means that their delivery vans are likely the method by which the _insects_ he put a slight emphasis on the word as if air quoting it, "are getting dispersed through the city. Shouldn't we take measures to shut them down?" 

"Good point. Get on the phone. You're from the Ministry of Health." Jack paced a couple of turns, vamping for time as he came up with a reasonable explanation to suspend Click and Shop's operation. "Bad Milk. Listeria. You need customer lists and delivery records. This late, all their vans should be back, unless they're running twenty-four hour service?" He looked down at his operatives for confirmation. 

"They deliver until eight," Mark said. "At least those vans should be back in the warehouse, or nearly back at any rate." He felt the beginnings of a cover story start to gel in the corner of his brain. He jotted a quick note and sent it to Max for later consideration so it wouldn't be forgotten when it was time to repackage the crisis.

***

What had happened to Andy made them all cautious. There was no grousing as the team slipped into haz mat suits before entering the warehouse at Click and Shop. 

"We're going to frighten the life out of the staff," Dev said as she checked the connections on Felicity's air pack. 

"You're probably not half wrong." Felicity turned to the squad of Torchwood reservists they'd called up to help with crowd management. "We need to keep the staff isolated until they can all be screened. Dev, you'll help me with that. Gwen, you, Mark and Stuart will be on bug patrol. We still don't know what these things look like, so be extra cautious." 

"Andy didn't even see the thing that bit him," Stuart reminded them all. "It's probably tiny." He looked up at the modestly-sized warehouse building. "How are we supposed to find a bug too small to see?" 

"We do it with germs all the time," Felicity said. "And I doubt these things are invisible to the naked eye, just really good at hiding. We're using the hypothesis they're getting out through the packing line, so concentrate your search there. There wasn't any common denominator among the customer purchases from the test scheme, or the gift boxes the people at the ribbon cutting were given to take home."

"Right." Gwen pulled at her suit, shrugging her shoulders and settling the synthetic fabric into more comfortable lines. "That means, boxes, padding, and the like." 

"Exactly." Felicity picked up a portable vacuum cleaner with a clear jar attached where otherwise there might be a bag. "We need samples. Lots of samples. So resist the urge to stamp your feet. I don't want to have to scrape them off your shoes." 

It wasn't much of a joke, but the assembled team offered a polite courtesy laugh. 

"Right," Gwen said. "Let's do this for Andy."

***

Gwen adjusted the vacuum on her shoulder and tried not to sigh. The meter in her hand remained stubbornly silent as they walked through the warehouse. Somewhere there was an infestation of aliens, but there had been nothing to calibrate to so far, and until they came across the creatures in a mass, they had nothing to guide them. 

"This is it." She pointed at the head of the packing station. Cartons, insulated sheets in a cooler, and printouts of orders waiting to be filled, were all neatly organised. 

"I'll try this side." Mark made his way to the end of the line where the lids, padding sheets, reorder forms, and catalogues, waited in readiness. Only a few seconds passed before he said excitedly, "Gwen. I've got something." 

Her own meter was still stubbornly silent. Gwen went to see what Mark had discovered. She glanced over his shoulder and watched the needle climb. But to her eye, there still wasn't anything to see. 

"It's strongest here." He dropped the meter to rest against his chest, picked up one of the stack of corrugated packing pads, and waved it in front of her meter. The needle spiked and they exchanged a significant glance. 

With delicate movements of his fingers, despite the protective gloves, Mark peeled the layers of paper apart. Something so tiny, Gwen was almost positive she'd imagined it, wriggled away from the light. Excitement made her hands shake as she lifted the mouth of the vacuum tube into place, and then nodded at Mark. He peeled the paper back a little further. 

There was a soft popping sound as the suction mechanism activated and Gwen ran the device over the surface of the pad. She shut off the machine and looked down at the glass jar. Several almost wire-like life forms writhed as they tried to gain a purchase against the glass walls of their prison.

"We've got you!" Gwen said triumphantly.

***

"Any luck?" Jack watched, fascinated, as half a dozen alien bugs in a sample jar undulated over a suspended paper filter. Tiny metal wires interlaced the surface underneath, and the whole contraption was connected to a power source. 

"Nothing," Felicity replied with a sigh. "We've tried scent, light, sound, and now electricity, and nothing makes the little blighters want to bite. Except it seems," she added with a dour look, "direct contact with humans."

"They're not even interested in rats or rabbits," Martha added. "Maybe it's the fur, but they just curl up in the corner and ignore them." 

Felicity turned the current up higher. "We've got to get venom for analysis." The bugs danced on their tiny, filament-like legs, but showed no sign of striking. She looked at them both hopelessly. "I'm running out of ideas." 

Jack had one. It didn't exactly fill him with cheerful anticipation, but there was a real possibility it would work.

***

"I'm going to let them use me as a collection vessel." 

Ianto stared in disbelief for a long moment, putting the rest of the plan together in his head before Jack could explain further. He slumped back into his chair, weary from a sleepless night, and shook his head. "I know you've been looking for a way to tell the others, Jack, but this is a terrible idea." 

Which was exactly the reaction he had expected. Which is why he had dragged Martha with them into the conference room away from the eyes and ears of the rest of the team. He needed Ianto on board with what he was proposing, if only to save them both from a lot of grief later.

"Trust me, Ianto. You know how I feel about crawly things. I've thought this through." He turned to Martha. "You need antigens, right?" 

She nodded slowly. "Yeah. It's the only way we can synthesise an antivenin in time to help most of the victims." 

"Okay," Jack said. He put on his best no problem face. "So what I'm suggesting is this: We have this portable chamber, see? It's completely self contained. I'll take a cage of bugs in with me and once the containment unit is sealed, I'll let them go. They'll swarm and bite me. I'm not actually too hot on that part of the plan," he admitted.

Ianto, at least, rolled his eyes, and that made Jack feel a little better about what he was proposing. "Then, once you've got enough venom to work with, I'll hit a switch, flood the unit with insecticide, and kill all the little devils." 

"And yourself," Ianto muttered dourly. 

Jack shrugged at him. "You can't make an omelette – “ He returned his attention to Martha, gauging her reaction. "Once they're dead, you and Felicity can harvest as much blood as you need." 

"Felicity doesn't know your secret?" Martha dropped her voice even though the door was locked and there was no one to overhear. 

"None of the new kids know," Jack said. " I haven't died since we took them on. Which is why we're having this little powwow with you first. If you think the plan will work, then we'll tell the rest of the team."

Martha's forehead crumpled under a rash of worry lines. She looked at Ianto, who was busy studying his coffee mug. "I've raised my objections," he said, as if he knew what she was thinking. 

"You're biased," Jack argued back. 

Ianto raised his eyes and they held each others' gaze. "You're not wrong." 

Jack played his trump card. "It will save lives." 

"All right." Martha sounded as enthused as Ianto, but she nodded. "We'll do it. We'll need Felicity's assistant Dev, and at least one other pair of hands to help us. And a technician to assist with the mechanics." 

Ianto cleared his throat. "I'll do it. And we'll use Mark. Other than Jack, he's the most comfortable with the machinery around here." 

"Thank you." They were too far across the table to touch, but the look Ianto gave him was intent enough that Jack felt as if they'd embraced.

"I'll just ask them to step in then," Martha said with an attempt at her usual bright cheerfulness. "Shall I?"

***

As it turned out, the entire team wasn't present when Jack came back upstairs dressed only in a pair of briefs covered by his dressing gown. Most of the staff was helping with the house to house checks, and Gwen was still at the warehouse supervising the decontamination. The bugs, tentatively dubbed stealthapedes by Ianto for their furtive habits and many legs, were waiting.

Mark was bent over a piece of equipment. He seemed displeased as he made a final connection and then straightened to address Jack. "I've made all the modifications we discussed, boss. It's cumbersome and not very pretty," he said as stepped away from the test bench so that Jack could inspect his work, "but it will do the job." 

It did look rather jerry-rigged at that. Cables and connections, feed tubes and wires, ran in and out of a clunky box attached to a pair of gas cylinders – one of which was adorned with a skull and crossbones. "Be careful with that," he warned. 

Jack tried for a quip. "So I shouldn't open this valve here, just yet?" 

Mark's normally apple-tinted cheeks paled alarmingly as he returned Jack's grin with a sickly smile. "I wouldn't suggest it." 

"Gallows' humour, Jack," Ianto said from behind him. "It doesn't always go down a treat." He turned to Mark. "I can take that. If you'll carry in the rest of the gear." 

Mark gave Ianto a stiff jerk of his neck in reply and moved away with a cart full of equipment, leaving them alone. Ianto had taken the time whilst he was changing into a set of hospital scrubs to retreat behind his professional façade, and now his expression was distant as he regarded Jack. "With a little time, we can find another way." 

That was true. But Andy and the patients in the hospitals who clung tenuously to life really didn't have a little time. The doctors were doing all they could using traditional methods for treating the symptoms of the venomous creatures with antihistamines and steroids, but that wasn't enough. They needed antivenin.

"Yeah," Jack replied. "But if I die, I get better. Most people can't say that." He extended a hand. "Come on. What's really bothering you?" 

"Why do you have to be conscious?" Ianto's reserve slipped just a little and his voice cracked. "Can't you at least have them put you out first?" 

Jack had thought about it. He'd been tortured and killed in a lot of different ways. Some were easier than others. This death he was contemplating rated fairly high on the ways he would prefer to avoid. But he needed to be aware to control what was going on inside the containment unit. And he needed the others to see that what he was revealing wasn't some kind of trick. He shrugged. Ianto had been there when they worked out the procedure. 

"Come on. Let's get this over with. You can chew me out about my poor judgement later." 

Ianto stalked off carrying the gas canisters.

***

"Is everyone clear about what they're meant to do?" Felicity asked. She looked at each of her colleagues in turn, making sure to receive some sign of affirmation before she moved on. Everything was laid out. She and Martha had seen to that personally. Blood collection machinery, syringes for extracting samples from multiple bite sites, and a dose of strong barbiturate fitted in a syringe with a cardiac needle, were all laid out and easily to hand.

"Sir, if you'll take your position we'll get under way." 

Jack shed his dressing gown, easing the sleeves over the I.V. catheters already taped into place at the crook of each arm, and handed it off to Ianto. Dev then helped him place an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth before carefully handing over a glass container of stealthapedes they'd collected from the warehouse. 

Mark activated the containment field. A subtle hum filled the air and the fine hairs on Felicity's arms rose. 

"Okay, gang," Jack said, attempting to sound cheerful, "here we go." 

He took a deep breath, opened the collection unit, and shook it out over his body. Hundreds of tiny multi-legged creatures swarmed over his skin. Muscles began to jump in the captain's cheeks as he fought against a growing tide of pain. "This may not have been my best idea ever," he admitted through gritted teeth. 

Ianto was watching in horrified fascination, as were they all, as tiny red spots – first dozens and then hundreds – began to mar what was otherwise smooth and unmarked skin. The creatures seemed to go into a frenzy. Felicity wondered absently if they were territorial, and the presence of others of their kind competing for the same food source was inflaming their aggressive nature. 

It was like being in the middle of a waking nightmare as the seconds dragged past with interminable languor, and the man in the middle of it all writhed suspended in place by the forcefield of the containment unit, whilst they did nothing but record his agony. 

"How much more of this?" Ianto asked through clenched teeth. It was almost as if he were sharing the captain's pain. His eyes kept straying to the barbiturate-loaded syringe before returning to Jack's face. 

Felicity looked over at Martha. She was busy monitoring life signs – both the stealthapedes and Jack's. When she glanced up, her face was set in tight, controlled lines. "Jack's vitals are going off the scale. Body temperature's rising. 40.1C. Heart rate is going through the roof. 180 bpm. Much more of this and he'll arrest." 

In front of her, Jack Harkness was in acute distress. His breath was coming in short, harsh exhalations. He lost the fight against the urge to bat the creatures away from his face. His skin, flush with fever and broken with thousands of tiny punctures, wept blood. 

"Flood the compartment," Ianto ordered Mark.

Insecticide filled the chamber. The seething mass of tiny silver bodies clinging to Jack's began to fall to the floor.

Felicity drew a shaking breath as she waited impatiently for the poison to do its work. This, according to Martha, was where things got tricky. "Life signs?" 

"None," Martha replied. "The creatures are dead." She sounded just as rattled, and Felicity took some comfort in that. 

"Evacuating the pesticide," Mark said. A long moment later, he added. "Flushing with oxygen." More long seconds later. "It's safe." 

"Drop the field," Felicity and Martha ordered almost simultaneously. 

The containment field collapsed. Jack staggered halfway to his knees before Mark caught him and carried him to a treatment bed. 

"Get those lines hooked up." Martha was already on the move, wheeling one of the blood collection units closer and making the connections. "We need to get as much blood as we can before he dies. Dev, you and Ianto start pulling samples from the bite wounds. There won't be much in each draw, just a tiny drop. But don't worry, it'll be enough. The machines will do the rest." 

They went to their ghoulish work. The average human male had somewhere in the neighbourhood of five litres of blood circulating through his body. If they were lucky, they would drain more than half of that from Jack before his heart stopped and his body started to repair itself. 

Despite assurances from both Martha and Ianto, Felicity still couldn't quite believe that Jack Harkness, if not exactly immortal, considered death a temporary inconvenience. It was unfathomable how such a miracle could be possible, but they promised her, and the others, that they were doing Jack no permanent harm, despite the agony they knowingly inflicted.

An alarm went off. 

"Asystole," Martha intoned. "That's it. Get that catheter out of his arm." She shut off the pump on the collection unit she'd been monitoring, and followed her own instruction. 

Ianto dropped a final tubercular syringe into the tray and went to stand at the head of the table. He looked exhausted, shoulders bowed and expression sombre and drawn. Once this was over, she would insist he get at least a few hours sleep. Dev killed the code alarms whilst Felicity checked for a non- existent pulse. Martha had pulled a stethoscope into place and listened for a heartbeat, verifying the reading of the cardiac monitor. She shook her head. "Nothing. He's dead." 

Dev muttered a prayer for the safekeeping of Jack's soul in Greek. Martha added a self conscious 'amen'. Felicity felt the urge to cross herself, but kept her hand at her side. 

"This could take a while." Ianto seemed to make a visible effort to pull his attention away from Jack. "He has to replace the blood volume lost, plus repair all the damage caused by taking in such a massive dose of toxin. I'll do what needs to be done." He exchanged a tight smile with Martha and moved away to collect a washing sponge and basin. "For the pesticide residue," he explained. 

He was right, they did have work to do. Felicity decided she would place her trust in the impossible. "Dev. Start feeding the collected venom into the extractor. Martha and I will take care of the rest. Mark, if you could get us a status update from the hospitals?" 

They moved away, each to their appointed tasks, as Ianto began to wash Jack's body clean.

***

Stuart reared back and kicked at the door, splintering the wood as the lock separated from the frame. He ducked his head against a well-recognised and unwelcome scent. 

The Cardiff constable he had been partnered with held her hand over her mouth. "Oh God. Not another one. It's a bloody nightmare." 

"Stay back," Stuart ordered. "And call it in." He sprayed a line of insecticide across the threshold, sealed the door with gaffers' tape, and then scrawled his team's code number and the time on the tape with a marker. "We'll need a decontamination team."

***

Mark stared out onto the bay, watching night fade into the growing dawn of a new day. The boss had died in front of him, and he had helped. Ianto, one of the more sane people he knew, had insisted that Jack would be fine, because he was just a little bit different, and death didn't quite affect him the way it did most people. 

He was sure they were both nuts. They had to be. But Martha Jones, who seemed a pretty rational sort and had Felicity's respect, assured them all that it was true. 

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio," said Shakespeare. But Mark doubted the poet's imagination extended this far into the metaphysical.

The sun rose a little higher, sending shimmers of light dancing. He was exhausted. He knew he should be downstairs, using his time between crisis calls to recharge and get some sleep, but the tension level below was at choking levels. He needed to get out and breathe, if only for a little while, and try and sort his head. 

Had it been only two nights ago that they'd all been to the Bicycle Club where the boss had laughed as he demonstrated an amazing repertoire of dance moves? He couldn't really remember. 

A seagull cried. An early morning jogger, unaware Cardiff was under siege, trotted by. Mark pushed off the railing and decided he had better at least try to get some sleep. Maybe in his dreams he could escape the nightmare that was unfolding in front of him.

***

Jack gasped as life flooded through him, enervating every cell and overwhelming his senses. Ianto tightened his grip, providing an anchor. It was his way of letting Jack know that despite the fact he was isolated in his experience, he was not alone. 

Ianto muttered soothing words. His prayer of thanksgiving that once again Jack's soul had returned from its distant travels, he kept to himself. He knew that some day Jack should die. That was fitting and proper and the way of all things. But he was selfish enough not to want to have it happen in his lifetime. He had no desire to be the chief mourner at Jack's funeral.

Of course if there was any way he could prevent his own, inevitable demise, that was a fate he would spare Jack as well.

"How long was I out?" 

Trust Jack, despite his own suffering, to focus on what was really important. They were still in the midst of a crisis. 

"One hour, thirty-seven minutes and forty-two seconds."

He had timed with his stopwatch, not the one that hung from his waistcoat pocket, but the one in his head, calibrated to nearly as perfect accuracy. "How do you feel?" Reluctantly, he relaxed his grip and offered a steadying arm in its place as Jack attempted to get up off the table. "All right?"

Jack gathered himself for a few seconds and then nodded. "Yeah. Fine." He looked down and noticed he was naked. "Your handiwork?" 

Ianto handed over a clean pair of briefs. "You were coated in insecticide. I didn't want you getting sick all over again from the residue." 

"You're always trying to make things better for me," Jack said softly. "I appreciate that." 

They went silent for a few minutes as Jack dressed. He pulled his braces into place and looked up, as if he could see through the brick walls and into the Hub beyond. "How are they taking it? My death, I mean." 

"You willingly offered yourself up for vivisection," Ianto said, his tone dry. "They want to believe our outlandish claims, but the first time..." Ianto handed Jack a comb. "Dev offered up a prayer for the safekeeping of your soul." 

"Remind me to thank her when things calm down." Jack swallowed and rubbed at his throat. "I'm thirsty." 

Ianto offered his arm again, although he was forced to lean heavily on his stick as he took Jack's weight. "Blood loss. You need to eat something too, I expect. Come on. Let me take you to your quarters." 

Jack shook his head. "Can't. Not just yet. Just get me to my desk. Some coffee. A sandwich." He coughed and rubbed his throat again. "And a very large glass of water."

***

Ianto called this phase of the operation 'harnessing the power of bureaucracy'. Gwen had to concede he had a point as she watched a giant red and white tent being erected by a crew of pest control specialists.

The cardboard inserts had been back-traced; first to a warehouse in Bristol, and then to their point of manufacture at a plant in Warsaw, Poland. No one in either of those cities had been affected, so it seemed that Cardiff was isolated in its misery. For once, Gwen was grateful. The casualties were mounting to nightmare numbers as the stealthapedes' venom claimed more victims. 

Torchwood regulars and reservists were conducting a house to house search of everyone on Click and Shop's customer rolls and the guest list from their grand opening. Emergency Services personnel were assisting to help confiscate all the boxes delivered and look for more victims. Every premise where groceries had been delivered, along with all the trucks that had transported them, would be fumigated. Even Animal Control was getting into the act, providing temporary housing for pets of the affected households. 

They were under attack, not by gimlet-eyed aliens bearing laser cannons, but by a threat no less insidious. Gwen finally understood why Jack was pushing so hard again to get Torchwood on its feet, recruiting new operatives at every turn. As earnestly intentioned as the organisation had been when she first joined, there was no way they could have coordinated this many resources in such a short time frame. 

Someone called her name. Gwen roused herself from her musing, looked around, and saw Kathy Swanson beckoning.

***

"Thank God for Jack's 51st century immune system," Martha muttered under her breath. She looked through the eye piece of the microscope and felt her heart speed up as the antivenin created from Jack's blood broke up the stealthapede venom like detergent on a goblet of grease.

"What did you say?" Felicity rubbed at her lower back with one hand, stretching out a kink. 

_"Oops,"_ Martha thought to herself. _"I guess Jack hasn't mentioned his time travelling."_ She tipped her head towards the microscope in invitation. "I said, Thank God for this alien technology. It would have taken all kinds of time we don't have to create an antivenin, but what we've synthesised works. We've done it, Felicity! Come take a look."

Felicity repeated the test, preparing a fresh slide of blood tainted with venom and then once she had adjusted the microscope, adding a drop of the experimental antivenin. Her expression changed from one of guarded hope to undisguised relief.

"That is a gorgeous sight." However when she looked up again she seemed less pleased. "How are we going to test it? I don't want to ask the Captain ..." she trailed off, leaving Martha to fill in the blanks. 

"I'm not sure that would work," she replied. "Jack's immune system is unique. What's effective for him might not be representative of the general population. I'm afraid we're going to have to go into this cold." 

Felicity closed her eyes for a second, when she opened them again her expression was still torn. "First do no harm. Suddenly that directive seems a lot more formidable than it did when I was just implementing someone else's research." 

Martha knew exactly what she meant. Standing on the cutting edge of medical discovery was scary as hell. Felicity was looking beyond her, towards the infirmary. She seemed to be debating something with herself. Finally, very resolutely, she drew a dose out of the test batch of antivenin. 

Martha followed into the infirmary, watching as Felicity moved the crash cart to Andy Davidson's bedside. 

"I promised I'd watch out for him," Felicity said. Her voice was calm as she checked the I.V. and made a slight adjustment. She picked up his chart and made several notes before drawing up a dose of epinephrine from the bottle on the crash cart. 

They were mates. Close mates. Martha had gathered that much from the hushed whispers, and off the sympathetic glances her team-mates had given Felicity when they thought she wouldn't notice.

"You don't have to do this." Martha put her hand on Felicity's shoulder. "I can administer the dose. Dev can assist me." 

Felicity shook her head. "He's my patient. My responsibility. This is my duty." She picked up the syringe holding the dose. "If you're ready, Dr Jones?"

Martha matched Felicity's resolute nod and pulled on a pair of gloves. She held her breath as the antivenin was injected into Davidson's I.V. 

Nothing happened. No alarms sounded. Davidson made no sign he was in distress. The monitors continued beeping and bleeping as if they'd done nothing at all. "This could take some time," Martha said.

Felicity nodded, moving the crash cart out of her way so she could draw a stool close. "I'll take the first watch."

***

"Jesus, what's wrong with my head?" 

Andy croaked when he spoke. He didn't recognise his own voice and that scared him almost as much as the beeping sounds of medical machinery and the fact he could see wires and tubes protruding from every visible part of his body.

There was the sound of rapid motion just out of view. A tray of metal instruments clattered as they hit the ground. A rubber soled shoe squeaked. He took all of it in and tried to make sense of what was happening.

"Andy?"

A blonde woman was peering at him through eyes that were red rimmed and gritty. She looked like hell, right up until she smiled, and then Andy thought she was the prettiest sight in the entire world, because somewhere in his fever-battered brain, he made the connection that if she was smiling with such relief, and her eyes were filling with what looked to him like tears of joy, then whatever awful thing had happened to him was done and dusted, and soon he'd be on his feet again. (Assuming he still had feet. His legs were numb and he couldn't be sure.)

The name was familiar. He was reasonably positive that's what people called him. The woman was starting to look worried again. Andy decided his wool-gathering must be the cause. He shook his head and said, "In the flesh," before falling back into a deep and easy sleep.

***

Stuart moved the chair closer to Terry's bed and took a seat. The room was chilly, they had lowered the temperature in the entire wing of the hospital to assist with keeping all the afflicted patients as comfortable as possible, but it wasn't helping the staff, nearly all the doctors and nurses he'd seen had taken to wearing cold weather gear under their scrubs. 

Machines beeped at regular intervals. Fluids dripped from I.V.s, and an oxygen mask covered Terry's nose and mouth, helping him to breathe. He was in a coma, getting no better or worse as his body fought against the effects of the alien toxin.

It had been hours since the doctors had made their rounds through the afflicted wards warily administering doses of antivenin a few patients at a time. Periodically, alarms would sound and people would spring to action, but so far, Terry had remained quiet.

"Hello, Terry." Stuart felt self conscious as he took the other man's hand, but patients did respond to external influences, and he wanted Terry to know that he wasn't isolated or alone. "I hope you remember me. This is Stuart. We met the other night at the Bicycle Club." 

He talked on. Rubbish mostly. He complimented Terry's abilities with a camera, and mentioned that they shared a taste for the same beer. "I hope when this is over and sorted, and you're well, we might see each other again." 

There didn't seem to be much more to say after that. Stuart rose, gave Terry's hand a squeeze, and smoothed the bedding over his too still frame. He started to move away, but noticed at the last moment the subtle uptick in activity on the EEG monitor.

He watched, his breath bated, as Terry struggled his way back to consciousness. His eyelids fluttered open, and he looked up at Stuart quizzically. "Why am I in hospital?" And then a beat later. "Do I know you?" 

That hurt. Stuart knew his feelings were irrational. Terry had been in a coma. Before that, he'd been gravely ill. Thinking they would have some kind of romantic reunion was unrealistic.

"My name's Stuart Fraser. I was on the scene when you collapsed. I just stopped by to see how you were getting on."

He pulled on his tie, uncomfortable with the minor deception, but instinctively knowing it was the right thing to do. "I should probably go find someone. Let them know you've regained consciousness." 

Terry nodded weakly and closed his eyes again. Stuart looked at him one last time, said a silent goodbye, and went to summon a nurse.

***

Gwen settled her head on her hands. There was only one more meeting to go, and then she could finally go home, have a meal cooked by Rhys that didn't involve two pieces of bread and a tasteless filling, and soak in a hot bath before getting some much needed sleep.

Due to her work, and that of her team, Cardiff need never know they'd just escaped a bullet. Oh, they'd know that something had happened, there had been too many screaming sirens and sudden deaths for the crisis to completely go unnoticed, but the real reason would never be revealed. 

An aide to the Mayor entered bearing a tray of coffee and biscuits. Gwen accepted the china cup with a polite smile of thanks. She sipped at the coffee and hoped the Mayor would buy into the scheme they'd devised to cover an ongoing abatement effort. Unfortunately, despite their best efforts, there was a good probability that like the weevils, the stealthapedes, or the Bolivian Wireworm as they were leaning towards re-branding the alien invaders, would be with them for the foreseeable future.

***

Martha yawned hugely as she settled in Jack's guest's chair. "Would you mind if I borrowed a bunk in the ready room?" 

"After what you did these last couple of days you need a proper bed. Come back to Ianto's with us." Jack's eyes glittered as he added, "You'd be adorable in his yellow ducky pyjama top." 

"Jack!" Martha feigned outrage. "Seriously. I'd love to have a proper lie in, but I've got to catch the London train. I'm supposed to present a paper later this afternoon at a UNIT Division Chief's conference. I'm in danger of someone noticing I'm missing as is." 

"A nightcap then," Ianto offered as he poured brandy from the decanter.

"Thanks." Martha accepted the drink. She took a polite sip and closed her eyes as she swallowed. "That's good." When she opened her eyes she said, "He'd be so proud, Jack."

There was no need to guess to whom Martha was referring to as Jack dipped his head to hide his pleased smile. At the end of the day, there was only one man whose validation he would always crave. Ianto tried not to take it too personally. 

"We couldn't have done this without you," Jack said as he raised his glass. "Not that Felicity wasn't doing a yeoman's job." 

"She's a good doctor. With good instincts," Martha demurred. "Even without my help, she would have found a way." 

"Maybe." Jack gazed at her frankly. "But the two of you are a powerhouse team. Think of the good you could do if you stayed on." 

"It's a tempting offer." Martha set down her glass. She looked down at the floor for a second as if she were trying to compose her thoughts. "But the truth is, Jack, you need me right where I am right now." 

Ianto felt himself fading from view as Jack contemplated Martha and she regarded him back.

"These changes you're making. There are those in the upper ranks of UNIT who are less than pleased to see Torchwood rebuilding. They see you as a threat." Martha drew a breath. "The work I'm doing now. Well... let’s just say that not much gets by me. I hear things. I can be your early warning system." 

"You'll jeopardise your career," Ianto said. The celebratory atmosphere had evaporated. Suddenly the mood was much more sombre. 

Martha shook her head. Her expression was serious and intent as she regarded them both. "I know where my loyalties lie and who my true friends are. If these generals get their way, then my future career won't be with UNIT." 

"First you're my nightingale, and now you're my canary in a coal mine." Jack smiled one of his rare, private smiles. "What have I done to deserve people like you in my life?" 

Ianto looked at Martha as he refilled her glass. "I can probably think of one or two things. What about you?" 

They laughed softly, raising their glasses and touching them as Jack blushed. Despite Martha's warning of potential future trouble with UNIT, as the three of them stood and looked down over the main body of the Hub and the crew of operatives that still toiled coordinating different aspects of burying the stealthapede invasion, for a little while at least, everything seemed just as it should be.

End


End file.
